Day 47: Santander to Po | 92km

18 July 2026

My muscle memory for packing up my camping gear hadn’t disappeared after spending a couple of nights in hostels. The pressure to hit the road early because of the extreme heat had eased, but I was still eager to get going, so after a quick breakfast at the campsite, I set off.

I’d say the first hour is always the hardest. It takes a while to warm up, for your body to settle into the ride, for your ass to adjust to the saddle, and to get the first kilometers under your belt. Like yesterday, it was another hilly day, and I actually had to climb roughly the same amount of elevation over a much shorter distance. Again, that meant steeper climbs, more climbs, or both.

The Camino del Norte is one of the less popular Camino routes, but I don’t really understand why. Northern Spain has been spoiling me with perfect weather, beautiful scenery, incredible food, and friendly strangers. I’d only been to Bilbao before this trip, but I already know I’ll be back to explore the region more. I think I’ve already convinced a few friends to book their next vacation somewhere around here. I’ll happily continue being an ambassador for this part of Spain.

The Camino itself is well known, but I had underestimated how deeply woven into the landscape it feels. Yellow arrows and scallop shell markers appear everywhere to guide pilgrims, restaurants and cafés proudly advertise that they’re pilgrim-friendly, and the locals seem to take genuine pride in the trail passing through their towns.

I quite literally bumped into another bikepacker in Comillas, a picturesque seaside town with cobbled streets centered around a lively square and its historic parish church. I had stopped to photograph one of the narrow streets leading toward the old center when the man, who looked to be in his early 30s, accidentally nudged my bike with one of his panniers as he stopped to check his directions.

We chatted for a few minutes, and I learned it was only his second day biking the Camino. Looking at his bike, and the slightly awkward way he handled his heavily loaded setup, I recognized the same look of inexperience I probably had back in Norway when I first started this trip.

Since then, I’ve gotten to know my bike inside and out. Everything is perfectly dialed in, my body feels strong, and I could probably find any piece of gear with my eyes closed. The weather-beaten and slightly leaner face looking back at me in the mirror is a different version of the person who left home, too.

Meeting someone at the very beginning of their own journey reminded me of everything I’ve learned over the past two months. The fears that seemed so real at the start, the problems that felt overwhelming, and the countless little lessons you only learn by spending day after day on the road. After more than 5,000 kilometers in the saddle, I guess I’ve quietly gone from being a novice to becoming an experienced bikepacker.